


Love Is Blind

by westminster



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Teenlock, greg being sweet, insecure!Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westminster/pseuds/westminster
Summary: teen mystrade AUThe first detention Mycroft doesn't regret getting is the one where he meets Gregory Lestrade.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My second attempt at Mystrade. Mycroft as a teenager seems like the cutest! Kudos & feedback are greatly appreciated because who knows, maybe they'll give me the inspiration to write a part two.

_“_ _Love is blind,_

_Love can tell a million stories_

_Love’s unkind,_

_Spiteful in a million ways.”_

_\- Love Is Blind, Falsettos_  

Hobbling into A4 for his scheduled detention, Mycroft nearly laughed in disbelief. A few months ago, this room would have been full to the brim with misbehaved children, the population so high that most students could not find chairs to accommodate them, but rather stood up for the full hour. It was getting to the point where his fellow students were racing to detention, just to guarantee themselves a seat. Now, in front of him sat merely four equally glum students.

The fact that the academic year was drawing to a close, and the more profanely behaved students had worked out that the worst the teachers could be bothered to do was to make a phone call to your parents documenting the incident - and even then, this was hardly done any more due to the sheer number of heavily intoxicated, curt replies and threats they were receiving, the students, and soon after the teachers, just stopped caring. 

Still, Mycroft knew that by not attending he risked a rather terrifying phone call to Mummy, which would indefinitely upset her. She didn't need to know that he'd been outsmarting his professors again, to the point where one had finally snapped.

Detention was run by a meek, small man named Mr Draper. He came from a sparsely populated welsh village, and was obviously not used to such rash, outlandish behaviour, this meant the students went mainly unmonitored. The professor much too captivating by the screen of his phone to notice if the students were conversing.

Grimacing, Mycroft took his seat on the third row back, out of the way of most of the other students. _"One hour,"_   He repeated, his voice barely audible.

Unfamiliar with the social protocol for detentions, he risked a quick glance around the room, noticing most students had earphones in. Following suit, he fished his pair of earphones from the very bottom of his bag - at this point, they were there as a commodity, more than anything. Someone who was destined to work for the British government didn't have time to listen to music.

Just as he was immersing himself in Tchaikovsky's second movement, he felt a rough piece of paper jab him in the back.

Tugging his headphones out, he turned around, expecting to see one of the school's notorious dimwits teasing him again.

Instead he locked eyes with the boy behind him, who grinned deviously and stared at the paper aeroplane that had fallen at the side of Mycroft's desk.

Mycroft couldn't refuse - how could he ignore that huge, boyish smile? He couldn't detect any malice whatsoever in the boy's actions, and was instantly smitten by his classmate's gorgeous appearance. It was then that Mycroft made the extremely rare decision to go along with what ever this stranger was up to. He proceeded to pick up the note and smooth it out carefully on his desk. The note simply read "Hi, I'm Greg," with a comical smiley face next to it.

Mycroft turned around again, and shot him a look that had sent a few students in the past running, desperate to keep up his iceman façade in front of this devilishly handsome stranger. "Mycroft," he mouthed uneasily.

Clearly not put off by his callous demeanour, Greg tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and continued to bite the end of his pencil.

"Hey, do you want to get coffee after this? It's on me."

Mycroft contemplated this for a moment, he'd never been asked out in his life, let alone by someone so conventionally attractive. But then again, Greg knew nothing of his personality.

"Do you make a habit, Gregory, of propositioning random strangers for coffee with awfully made paper aeroplanes?" 

"Only the nice ones."

"Nice? I think the majority of the faculty could think of thousands of words to describe me. Nice is not one of them." 

Greg blushed, suddenly regaining interest in the calculus papers that lay untouched in front of him. After a moment, he looked up and met Mycroft's eyes again.

"So... erm, what words _do_ they use to describe you?" 

"Freak. Misfit. Fat. Alien... The list goes on."

"Christ."

"Gregory, do not feel sorry for me. My talents are uncomprehendable to those of a lesser IQ. It is them I feel sorry for, such tiny minds."

Greg, now intrigued and always up for a challenge, slipped out of his seat and into the one besides Mycroft. 

"Talents, eh?" 

_Play the game_ , Mycroft thought, _Gregory is far too aesthetically superior to be interested in you. Deep breaths. Don't get attached._ He straightened his back and looked around the classroom again.

"Mr. Draper? Suffers from a quite serious pornography addiction, leading his wife to be a serial monogamist. One young, male child. He's suicidal but of course Daddy's too busy masturbating and Mummy's too much of a slut to notice. That kid over there? Rich. Very rich. His great grandfather was a Lord. Hides it because he thinks it makes him look uncool. Wouldn't dare show any of his friends his country manor. And prom queen at the back? Two months pregnant."

Greg choked back a laugh, "God Mycroft, that was-"

"Terrifying? Abnormal?"

"Bloody brilliant!"

Mycroft started to retort, but was cut off by the bell that signified the end of detention. Muttering something about 'bloody brilliant' not being the standard reply, Mycroft fled not wanting to be distract by this gorgeous stranger anymore.

 

 *

 

"Oi! Mycroft! Would you wait up? You and those lanky legs do walk fast."

Quickly Mycroft calculated if it was physically possible to get out of Gregory's view and pretend he hadn't heard him, hoping to avoid another conversation with the boy that was causing him to feel strange things. And as a rule, Mycroft Holmes did not feel things for anyone.

"You never answered my question. About coffee?"

He turned around, and there was Greg again, looking like a dishevelled angel in his scarcely buttoned shirt and loose tie. Mycroft, for the first time in his life, didn't know what to do. He should accept, because why couldn't this be the one good thing he had in his life? Why shouldn't he allow himself the chance at meeting someone? But feelings were messy and complicated, and Mycroft was certain he'd ruin this somehow - that he'd get in the deep end and begin to drown, dragging poor Gregory down with him.

"I have to decline, for your own good. I am not an amicable partner for anybody."

Greg attempted to loosely toy with Mycroft's buttons, prompting the younger boy to step back, eyes wide. "Christ, Myc, you're such a lovely thing, creamy skin, all dressed up in your little cardy, gorgeous blue eyes..."

"Gregory," Mycroft warned, attempting to keep himself composed but instead flushing a deep shade of scarlet, "I assure you that you do not want me. I am a cheesecake away from obesity, have a knack for getting myself in bother with other students, exasperate my professors with my superior knowledge and dress like I belong in the House of Commons or a nursing home, take your pick!"

Wondering how far he could take this, Greg cupped Mycroft's cheek. Mycroft wasn't sure who was more surprised that he didn't pull away.

"Jesus Christ! Why can't you just accept that I fancy the pants off you? For someone who calls themselves brainy, this isn't such a hard concept you wrap your pretty little head around." Greg added a light chuckle on the end, hoping that Mycroft would understand he meant it with no spite. 

For once Mycroft was rendered speechless, he had no witty retort or long words to throw Greg off. Frightened by the lack of control he had over his own actions, he tried to step away, to get out of Greg's space, to stop for a minute and breathe but Greg was quicker, using his free hand to hold Mycroft into place.

"Let me kiss you. If you don't like it we don't even have to see each other again. Just one kiss, Mycroft. Please?"

Greg took Mycroft's silent response as an invitation to lean in, until they were nearly touching, giving Mycroft a final chance to back out. When he didn't, Greg kissed Mycroft slowly, taking his sweet time. 

After a few seconds of Greg feeling like he was snogging a corpse because Mycroft was so unresponsive, Mycroft finally returned the kiss, cataloguing Greg's cologne, the way Greg's stubble felt against his clean-shaven face, the slight taste of spearmint chewing gum that lingered in the back of Greg's mouth, searching for anything and everything to remember this moment by.

Unsure of what to do with his hands, Mycroft decided to lace them in Greg's hair and began stroking through the dark strands as the kiss got less and less frantic until Mycroft broke it off. Greg leaned his forehead against Mycroft's.

"Fuck."

Mycroft giggled at the sheer simplicity of Greg's response, "Yes, my dearest Gregory, _'fuck'_ indeed."


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> due to popular demand (and an increase in my boredom) I decided to add another part to this. I really hope you all like this because it's taken me longer to write than any other fanfic! I'm actually pretty proud, woohooo!

 

It had been exactly 3 days 5 hours and 12 minutes since that kiss. Mycroft definitely wasn't counting.  According to his very limited data surrounding relationships, the average time it took for a person to text their potential love interest was 1731 minutes  . What was taking Gregory so long?  Mycroft could think of millions of answers, deciding on three options with the highest probability of occurring:  

1\. Gregory had lost his number. (After all, it was  hastily  writing down on a post-it note Mycroft had found in the very depths of his satchel.)  In this case, if Gregory didn't find Mycroft himself, he would have to do a little investigating and make sure they "  coincidently  " bumped into each other .

2\. Gregory had encountered an urgent problem which prohibited him from communicating with Mycroft. This meant that all Mycroft had to do was wait.  And he didn't do patience, in fact, he was certain the phrase 'good things come to those who wait' was complete bullshit . Good things come to those who do... those who try, those who don't sit in their parent's basement waiting for something to happen. 

And, of course, the option that kept Mycroft awake at night; the option that made him  truly  fearful. (As a rule, Mycroft was not a fearful person, he could count the number of times he'd  been scared  in his whole life on one hand.  However  , for a  portly  ginger student, love demanded fear.) 

3\.  Greg had come to senses and realised that Mycroft was a complete freak and had made the wise decision to abandon him and find an actually attractive suitor  . It was the most realistic option to Mycroft - Greg didn’t want him. Gregory was popular, cool, sociable, and  really  fucking hot.  Mycroft began to think it was stupid that he even considered something happening with Gregory . Mycroft had let his guard down for once and look where it left him - feeling alone and used.

He had spent many a night with Greg wandering around his mind.  Either trying to remember every little detail of that kiss or scrambling for any definitive signs that Greg was in love with him .

That was, until, a visit from his younger brother, Sherlock. Sherlock was, in Mycroft’s opinion, a pest.  Younger, scrawnier, less  emotionally  stable than him but still hurling insults, Sherlock was one of the reasons why Mycroft’s guard had to  be put  in place . 

It was no special occasion when Sherlock found out. It never was going to be. It could’ve happened anywhere, and  eventually  , it would have. That’s the whole point.  It was over an evening meal - the brothers shared a mere few seconds of eye contact when Sherlock  abruptly  started choking on a morsel of food  . Mycroft only raised an eyebrow and made no effort to help his sibling.  As soon as Sherlock regained the ability to speak, he  practically  screeched at Mycroft, " _Who_ ?!"

Mycroft had learnt over the years that the best way to deal with Sherlock was to play along with his stupid games whilst adding the least amount of fuel to the fire as possible . 

"Sherlock. You very well know that I have little idea of what you're referring to. If, my dear brother, you'd kindly elaborate..."

Sherlock laughed - a hearty, sarcastic laugh, offering no explanation for his actions. Until, of course, prompted by a slight raise of Mycroft's eyebrows.

"Which unlucky chap has stolen the heart of Mycroft Holmes? That is, to say, you have a heart in the first place."

Successfully  hiding his shock, Mycroft looked down  condescendingly  on Sherlock. As a result, Sherlock leapt up, long dark curls bobbing up and down in glee. "Ahh yes! I've cracked it! Mycroft in love! It was obvious from the very beginning,  really . Obvious too that he doesn't like you back..." 

Mycroft couldn't completely suppress his emotions this time, allowing his eyes to widen.  Sherlock reinforcing his deep fear that Gregory didn't reciprocate his feelings was like a stab to the stomach . 

"Yes, it was clear from the lack of work you've been doing recently, the imprints in your armchair - you always sit there when you're suffering with personal dilemmas. Your vocabulary is slipping, the way you hold your phone has changed too, almost as if you were waiting for something  . That's it, you're waiting for a text - from him!  It's made quite clear he doesn't return these feelings by simple factors like your reaction, the quantity of time he's taken to reply...  and, most  predominately  , your weight and your appearance. God, Mycroft,  surely  you realised that he wouldn't actually like you. Who would!"

" Absolutely  ," Mycroft whispered, an unusual reaction to one of Sherlock's outbursts.  He lifted the napkin from his lap,  neatly  folded it into quarters and placed it on the dining table before  leaving the room  .  Surprised that his words seemed to have actually affected Mycroft, Sherlock snorted, deciding to leave Mycroft to suffer with the misery of love on his own .

-

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could he have ever thought that Gregory was attracted  to him? _ It pained him to admit it, but Sherlock was right. He'd never experience love, for he was too obese, too ginger, too  socially  awkward for that. He was nothing more than a chew toy for boys like Gregory, and he hated himself for forgetting it. For forgetting everything in that moment. Gregory was like all the other boys - manipulative, greedy, lyin-

the familiar sound of his text tone pulled him out of his reverie. He paused. _Gregory? No. Do not get your hopes up. It's most likely Sherlock, continuing his relentless taunts. Good luck trying to force Sherlock to not bring it up next time they see Mummy, he thought._ Tantalisingly  , he pulled his phone from the pocket in the inside of his blazer. 

**hi mycroft its greg... from mr drapers detention?? srry it took me so long to text u, been a bit of a mess lately. let me buy you a few drinks n ill explain?**

Mycroft began to think he had  been blinded by  love; he believed Gregory. Of course, at the moment he knew he wasn't in the right state of mind to deduce things  but the overpowering memory of Greg on his lips had haunted him for the past few days and he wanted... _needed_ more. If they even had a slight chance of working out, then Mycroft was going to take a huge leap, grab on it and never let go.

**Understood. Though I do hope, dearest Gregory, that those drinks are non-alcoholic. I'm sure an intelligent man such as yourself understands that the law permits 17 year olds to drink. - MH**

**Oi, definitely  meant coffee ;) Meet _here _ tomorrow @ 4? **

Gregory sent him the address of one of Mycroft's favourite coffee shops in London, which not only  pleasantly  surprised him that Greg had good taste, but also reinforced the idea that this relationship was actually possible . 

**That sounds delightful. Until then, Gregory. - MH**

For the first time in years, Mycroft felt quite jovial. -  Absolutely  terrified about every single aspect of tomorrow, but jovial nonetheless.

*

Gregory itched  furiously  at his neck in the very back of the little café.  The jumper he was wearing had  been pulled  out of the very depths of his wardrobe, one he had gotten many Christmases ago from an ancient relative  . Impress Mycroft. Make this  absolutely  brilliant, ingenious man want you as much as you want him.

The first sign of Mycroft's arrival was the people dining at the front of the shops head's darting towards the window  .  A teenager in an  obviously  expensive three piece suit, accessorized with a cravat and an umbrella in hand was an unusual site in the poorer end of London  . Greg grinned so much at the sight of Mycroft that his mouth  physically  hurt. He leapt out of his seat and strode up to date.

"Mycroft!"

"Gregory. You look... quite congenial," he nodded in reply.

Greg was bouncing around him like an overexcited puppy, "Uhh, thanks, you look bloody fabulous too . I forgot how amazing your suits look on you. I got us a table at the back, out of the way y'know, I thought you'd prefer that." 

And so they sat down, making light 'lovely-weather-we're-having' conversation until the drinks they had ordered came  .  Black coffee for Greg, he had grown accustomed to ordering it when he was anxious, paired with a Danish raisin whirl  .  Mycroft,  on the other hand  , gave the waiter an order that Greg didn't know what half the words he said meant and from the looks of it, the waiter didn't either  .  Catching the word 'macchiato', Greg assumed it was Mycroft being what he could only describe as being 'Mycroft-ian' .

"So, about me not texting back... I know it was a real dick move, but I swear I have good reasons. Or wait, have you done that thing showed me, where you  instantly  know everything about anyone a glance? Do you already know?"

"I'm  simply  mortal, Gregory, I fear you see me as some sort of sub-human species. Even though it pains me to admit it, there are some things I  just  don't know."

In response, Greg chuckled, "Are you sure about that?  Because from what I've seen so far, you're  incomprehensively  intelligent, gorgeous, with the most amazing eyes, not to mention those lovely freckles  .  I think  Mycroft Holmes may  possibly  be an angel." 

Mycroft blushed a deep crimson, as he had never received such compliments. An angel! He was  utterly  lost for words. - that had never happened before too, today was definitely a day of firsts for Mycroft.

"Thank you, Gregory. I must completely assure you that you are not currently on a date with an angel. Though it may be possible that I am, considering your beguiling appearance." 

"Let's agree that both of us are definitely human, eh?"

That prompted the tiniest of smiles from Mycroft, which gave Greg a whole load of butterflies. Greg registered a smile from such a  perceivably  cold man as a success.

"About the me-not-getting-in-touch thing, err... "

"Gregory, do not feel like you have to explain yourself to me. Whatever reason you had that delayed your contact with me, It doesn't matter now. We're here - that is what matters."

"No, Mycroft, for this relationship to work, I want to be completely honest with you.  Basically  , my Dad broke his leg, and was stuck in hospital for a while, leaving me to look after two rowdy siblings. I'm so so sorry I didn't get in touch sooner, but these last few days have been such a mess.  I  really  hope you can forgive me because," Greg inhaled  deeply  , scanning Mycroft's eyes for any warning signs for what he was about to do, "I, I  truly  believe I'm in love with you . And I want you to give me a chance - I want you to give us a chance."

 Greg wasn't sure if Mycroft was breathing or not. He remained completely still, no emotion showing whatsoever. It took  nearly  a full minute for him to  fully  process Greg's words. And even then, he found himself unable to form a coherent sentence.  Greg saw this and made a feeble attempt to rectify his words, thinking that he was going too quick for Mycroft and feeling  absolutely  stupid at the same time - why did he say that ? It was a horrible decision to load all his feeling on Mycroft at once, what did Greg expect? 

"God, Mycroft, that was too much, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone that far... I, I..."

If Greg declaring his love for Mycroft  was unexpected  , then Mycroft reaching over the small table to haul Greg in for a kiss was even more so .

Greg was  initially  so surprised by this sudden development that he forgot how to respond.  Greg's brain was  frantically  trying to process what was happening - the sweet taste of Mycroft's coffee-infused lips against his own, Mycroft's hands tugging at Greg's jumper, grasping for any opportunity to get closer . Then, Mycroft licked Greg's lips in a way that went straight to his lower region, eliciting a small moan.

Greg being so vocal and responsive to Mycroft brought him back to reality and immediately pulled away - _they were in a public café, for Christ's sake_ _!_

Noticing a few customers  awkwardly  glancing over at them, Mycroft wanted the ground to swallow him up  . Greg,  on the other hand  , was grinning like an idiot, unable to take his eyes off his date.

"I- I'm sorry," Mycroft murmured, "That was rather uncharacteristic of me. Might  I suggest  we take this elsewhere?"

Greg nodded and in response Mycroft left a £10 note on the table; he thought the waiters deserved a large tip for putting up with two teenagers  practically  devouring each other . And with that, they fled, Greg whispering, "my house is a five minute walk from here." as he searched for Mycroft's hand.

* 

It wasn't a house at all. It was a little three bedroom flat in the rougher area of London, an area Mycroft was not familiar with, for obvious reasons. However, when Mycroft walked through the door, he felt completely transported. Gregory's living room was filled with warmth and comfort; huge pillows on a tiny sofa, a hand-sewn 'home sweet home' sign over a recently-extinguished fireplace, a sheep-skin rug covering nearly all of the floor. Mycroft thought houses like this only existed in Dickens' novels and the like. The whole house screamed with femininity, the only sign that a man had even entered the room was the hastily discarded pizza box on the kitchen floor. Oh. It all came together like a jigsaw puzzle. A really, really horrible jigsaw puzzle. It scared Mycroft that it took him this long to deduce it. Either Mycroft was loosing his talent or Gregory emitted an aura that completely threw Mycroft off. No, Gregory's past should have been clear from their first meeting. Mycroft should have registered that look in Gregory's eye that he'd only ever seen in Sherlock when his dog, Redbeard, died. - A look a pure grief.

Yes, it was clear that Gregory's mother was missing from a home she'd so lovingly decorated. Stage 3 lung cancer, he presumed. Found irreversibly late. Must have been mere weeks after her diagnosis that she died. Leaving three mourning Lestrade siblings and one confused father attempting to replace the huge void left by their doting mother. 

"You know, don't you?" 

Mycroft didn't answer and instead focused  solemnly  on the floor.

"She was amazing, my Ma. 'Superman in an apron', we used to call her - made the greatest apple pie. Stage 2 lung cancer...”

Despite the serious topic at hand, Mycroft couldn't help but think ‘ _Damn, stage 2. Th_ _ere is always something I don't quite get right._ ’ But immediately dismissed the thought once he realised it was rather uncaring and callous.  

“... me, Dad and the twins haven’t had it easy, but we cope. Today, when you kissed me, was the first time I felt actually happy since she passed.”

Then came the awkward silence, glances exchanged between the two men, Mycroft offering a reassuring smile in response. Sensing the tension, Greg  hastily  moved the conversation on.

“But don’t let me put a dampener on things.  We need to get back to the real reason why we’re here,” he flustered, grabbing Mycroft’s wrists then proceeding to intertwine their fingers, “I’ve got the house free until tomorrow night  . I was hoping in that time we could  participate  in more physical activities, if you get my gist.”

Mycroft smiled again, only this time it came  naturally  , amazing that this gorgeous man  truly  wanted him .

“Of course, Gregory, lead the way.”

*

The conversation halted when they got to Gregory’s bedroom; their lips  were engaged  with more meaningful tasks .

At first the kiss was tentative - a step into the unknown for the pair.  Slowly  , with every lick of Mycroft’s lower lip from Gregory, with every whimper, every moan made by the pair, the kiss became more frenzied .

They were both desperate, grabbing and clutching at as much cloth as possible.  Greg’s jumper  was thrown  onto the floor, Mycroft’s shirt  practically  ripped off his body by Greg, attempting to kiss every inch of his partner’s exposed skin .

Whilst sucking at a particular attractive area of Mycroft’s neck, listening to the expletives coming out of the other man’s mouth, Greg’s hands travelled down to Mycroft’s pants and attempted to unzip them  .  Slightly  startled, Mycroft stepped back earning a puzzled look from Greg.

“I apologise...” he started, unsure of how to explain himself, “Gregory, I do think of you very  dearly  . And I- I... umm.. what I want to say is that, I’m not sure if I want to go this far straight away.  I’ve never done anything like this before, and it’s thrilling and terrifying, wonderful and daunting all at once . What scares me the most is that we’ll rush into things and regret it later. I want to make this work, Gregory. I want to make this last because I am now certain that I’m in love with you.”

He took a deep breath and winced, unsure of how Greg was going to react. 

“Oh, Myc...”

Mycroft wondered why the nickname which earned Mummy harsh screams off ‘does it pain you that much say my full name?’ now sounded palatable when muttered by Gregory.

Greg caressed Mycroft’s cheek with one hand, the other resting on the small of Mycroft’s back,  lazily  drawing shapes with his index finger .

“I love you too,” he  practically  whimpered, “and I get it, taking it slow is a great idea. Won’t you stay the night though? It gets awfully lonely here, and I would love a bit of company. I’m not going to do anything you’re not 100% comfortable with.”

Mycroft  nearly  cried in relief. For the very first time, Mycroft could see a future with Greg.  He could see a real chance at being happy, being in love, being part of a family - the things he thought would never happen to him .

Part of him wanted to tell Gregory this, wanted to spill out everything he felt after a life time of keeping his emotions at bay, barricading himself away from everyone  .  However  , he was certain they'd be many more opportunities like this one in his future and rejoiced in that fact.

Instead, Mycroft kissed Greg again, this time deeper, trying to pour all his love for this incredible man into a single heart-melting kiss  . This time, they took it slow, Greg ordering Mycroft to lie on his bed.  Greg proceeded to straddle Mycroft and began to plant a soft trail of kisses from behind his ear down to his lower abdomen  .  Each moan and whimper elicited from Mycroft egged Greg on further, repeating his journey on the other side of his body . 

They lay there,  drowsily  kissing each other - from short pecks to kissing each other with every bit of passion in their bones - for what seemed like an eternity  .  Slowly  their kisses became less demanding, more lethargic until Greg nuzzled his face into Mycroft's neck and kept it there  .  Mycroft began to run his fingers through Greg's hair until he heard light snores from the other man, Greg mumbling a few thick words in the unintelligible language of those well and  truly  dead to the world . Mycroft took this as a sign to follow suit, and slipped into a soft slumber but not before he could whisper:

"I love you too, Gregory."


End file.
